Chicken Soup for the Warrior Lover's Soul
by PearlaH.Sweden-Arigatou
Summary: My own little 'Chicken Soup' book, for those of you who know the series... enjoy! Suggestions are always welcome!
1. Wild One

**I hate myself for starting another story, when I had a perfectly good one already. Still, an author must make sacrifices, I suppose. XP **

**This story is my own little form of a 'Chicken Soup' book, and I have a preposition for you all.**

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****This story is for Frosty, Mischief, C.J, and their brother and sister, who were taken away from the ones who loved them. Regards to Smokey, the mother of these five. **

**This story is also for Cheetah, her kits, and dear Smokey, who now walk in StarClan**

**Pearla

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**The Wild One**

_When a loved one is ready to take off, you should let him spread his wings -Pearla_

When Sunny, our beloved family cat, had three kittens that stormy night, I was overjoyed. I was seven, and my brother, Andrew, was twelve. I remember that we had to stay up all night to help her through the birth, but I was so tired I fell asleep. When I woke up, there were these three adorable kittens nuzzling into Sunny!

The first one was brown and white, and was by far the cutest. I called her Princess, after my old cat that died a long time ago. She was the only girl.

The next one was the smallest, and he was gray. He fit right into the palm of my hand! My brother named him Smokey, and he blinked at us with big blue eyes.

The last one, and he was by far my favorite, was a bright, bright orange male that looked like his father, Jasper. I wanted to call him Rusty, because somehow, that name fit perfectly.

Sunny didn't have enough milk to feed them all, so we had to bottle-feed them for a long time. Smokey, who was the weakest and smallest, couldn't survive on milk other than his mother's and died. When Rusty saw his brother dead next to him he nudged him and let out a pitiful mew. He looked at me with sad blue eyes, but a determination was in them as well.

When Rusty was growing up, he was always a little more…wild than his sister, who preferred the indoors. Rusty was always outside, playing with leaves, pretending to leap on mice, and his eyes were slowly turning green. He looked like a little tiger the way he acted!

At first, I was worried he would run away, or get hurt by these big cats I see living in the forest next to our house. They were wild strays, my mother said, and once I saw this big brown one that scared me. I shooed him away.

I got Rusty more toys to play with, just so he would be happy. I would often see him staring out into the forest, and I would start crying because he looked so sad. Nothing I did made him happy. Soon, he stopped eating cat-food, and would sleep in the garden. My mother told me he would never leave, though, since we 'cared for him since he was a newborn kitten'.

She was wrong.

I was watching Rusty from behind the window, when he saw a mouse. His ears pricking up, he got into a pouncing position. He seemed to hesitate, and then I raced out and started screaming for him not to go. He and I locked eyes in a moment I will never forget. Auburn eyes against green eyes, and both eyes were pleading with each other. I finally realized what Rusty wanted to do. He wanted to become a wild cat, like those others in the forest. He wanted to catch mice all the time, and live like them, and not be a house cat anymore.

I decided to let him go.

I stepped back, and he was running gone. I cried, sure, and I know Princess was upset, too, but somehow, my heart was telling me that my little Rusty would do better in the wild. He never seemed like much of a pet.

At least a year later, I was doing my homework near the window. It was then Princess let out an excited mew and jumped onto the window sill, squeezing out to the garden. I looked up, expecting to see the neighbor's cat, Smudge, or that little yappy chiwawa that had moved in. Instead, I saw in the distance, a battle-scarred orange cat, with bright green eyes. He had another cat with him, a gray one, and he looked proud and strong, even though he looked a bit skinny.

I knew, at that moment, that Rusty had returned home one last time, to say good-bye.

-Michelle Smith, 8 (my made-up-character)

Re-written by PearlaH.Sweden


	2. My Cats

**I'm sorry this took so long to update...really! XP**

**Well, this one is longer...but I hope it will be enjoyable. Also, the 'black-pawed cat' called 'Vampire' in this chappie is actually Blackstar, just to let you know. XP**

**If you have any 'Chicken Soup' stories about warriors that you would like to send to me, please do. All credit will go to you, NONE to me. I will merely post it in my story, because as a 'Chicken Soup' story it should include the writing pieces of many. XP**

**This chappie is for Frosty, Shortstops, and my Mia, who are the kittens I cherish, though Frosty is gone. Stay strong, CJ, Mischief, and Smokey: StarClan be with you.**

**This is also dedicated to the Lily of My Life, the flower that bloomed in my heart. I hope you are happy in the ranks of StarClan.**

**'My Cats'**

_"Those who are born wild will remian wild forever," -Pearla_

When I was little, I used to live near some woods. There was a whole lot of it, too, with a big stream and moorland, and these really old oak trees that I loved to climb. Sometimes I would go wet my feet in the stream, or put my rubber boat and follow it until the edge, or go race across the moorland and see how far I went…. but my favorite part was seeing the cats.

There were hundreds of wild cats in the woods, 'my cats', which is what I called them. Our neighborhood was known for it. I would count how much I spotted-once I got to nearly a hundred-but all of them were afraid of me, especially when I walked Tipo, my Husky.

I named some of them-especially a pure white one I called 'Snowflake', because her fur looked like snow. She was my favorite cat.

Sometimes at night I heard them fighting and it sounded pretty bad. I had respect for them because they were wild.

It took me by surprise when my mum told me that the woods were being cut down to make room for new construction to take place. My first thought was, _What about the cats?_ My mum said special workers would trap them and take them to shelters, where they would be safe and happy.

I knew she was lying.

I knew that they would put some cats to sleep-or worse, turn them into fluffy, furry housecats! I loved them because they were wild at heart, and because they had no collars and were completely free!

But I saw them the next month, when part of the forest was being cut down. They were so skinny! I hated the workers that chopped down the trees, and especially the trappers. They couldn't care less about the cats! They set these cages, luring them with cat-food, and when a skinny cat came to eat, the cage snapped and trapped it inside!

Once, at night, I heard it snap and I saw a big worker come and take two cats away, a white one and an orange one with a badly hurt face. I wondered if she was hurt by the workers, or by a falling tree. I asked what they would do with her, and they took one look at her and said that she'd either be adopted in 2 days or be put to sleep. When he said that, I began yelling at him at the top of my lungs. He looked at me like I was mental.

One time-and I didn't tell anyone this-I set one free when no one was looking. We exchanged a long glance, and then it fled.

The stream became dirty, and was being emptied into big holes. Our old friend, Mrs. Hilbert, said that her pet cat Cody was missing, and she was worried about her. I asked if the workers had seen or trapped a cat by her description, and they just shrugged.

I guess I underestimated 'my cats'. Because somehow, they escaped.

I heard the workers cursing about it day and night, but they didn't try again. I was so happy!

_'They'll be okay,"_ I told myself.

Then, when I sat near the moorland, looking into the distance, I saw, on top of a hill I used to climb, and old black and white cat. His ribs were sticking out he was so skinny-but he let out a cat-scream and a lot more cats appeared. Then they turned tail and headed towards the hills beyond, and the sea.

Later, I found hundreds of tiny cat footprints on the shore, leading away from my town. I knew they were gone for good.

That summer, my dad took me to camp out near this big lake. There was a forest there, too, and a small island in the middle that we would sometimes row to.

There were cats there, too! I couldn't help wondering at first if they were 'my cats'. "Are they…?" I would ask myself.

It was only until I saw a snow-white cat did I realize I was right.

I think that cat was Snowflake.

-Tanya McGreneth,12

Re-written by PearlaH.Sweden


	3. Story by Mistypool

**Hey, ya'll! **

**Lemme be clear about one thing, Ok, this is a story NOT by me, Pearla, but by MISTYPOOL! Got it? Not me-MISTYPOOL! Thank you so much, Mistypool! The first person to sumbit a story to me! People, if you have warrior stories, please submit so I can make this a real Chicken Soup book! XP All credit will go to you! XP **

**Pearla**

**THANKS MISTYPOOL!!! I only changed one word: 'feeling' was written 'fealing'. Thatz it, kay? XP ;P**

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I was always visiting the woods by my house. I lived near the city dump. I know

that it is not the best place to be. It stinks a lot, and I always find junk

there. But lately I have been catching glimces of cats in the woods near the

dump.

I loved these cats, because they had a wild feeling about them. I one time went

close to the road, and I saw cats on the other side of the road. I guessed they

lived all throughout the forest, and maybe in the moors, too!

There was one cat that had a creepy fealing about him. He looked like a tiger,

and had the longest claws I have ever seen. I often times saw him venture to the

border to talk to the dump-cats, as I called the cats near my house.

One time I saw a golden one that looked as if he were fire himself. With him, a

cinder colered cat was with him. He seemed to be trying to teach the hyper cat,

one that acted like my cat, Bagel.

One time I saw Tiger, as I called the cat that looked like a tiger, come to the

border with other cats. The other cats ran back through the forest. Tiger went

under a tree, and hid in the large roots. Within about ten minutes, the cinder

colored cat came racing throught the underbrush. She didn't stop in time to see

a car coming, and raced into the road. I was not brave enough to run and save

her, and the car hit. She lay in the center of the road. Tiger ran out and back

into the forest.

Then the fire colored cat and one other came and they checked over her. They

dragged her into the forest. As I had grown attached to the little cat who never

knew me, I ran home, thinking I would never see her again. My parents asked what

was wrong, and I told them nothing.

Months later, I went back to the road. As I were looking over the road, a cinder

colored thing across the road caught my eye. I looked across the road to see the

cinder-colored cat I had grieved for. Though her leg was twisted in a gruesome

angle, she was fine. Out of the forest came the fire-cat, and I knew that he had

helped her.

My cat was fine.

-Faith Walker,11

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**Author's (MISTYPOOL'S!) Note: If you could not tell, the "dump-cats" were ShadowClan. Tiger was Tigerclaw. The**

**cinder-colored cat was Cinderpaw, then Cinderpelt. The fire-cat was Fireheart.**

**And Bagel has no importance, and is made up. The charcter was also made up.**

**Thank you for posting my story!**

**Welcome, Mistypool! **


	4. Going Home Again

**Well, hi there! XP**

**I've stopepd updating on my other story, 'Guardian of the Moon Tree' because of my studies, and in truth, this will be the last 'Chicken Soup' story I will submit for 2 weeks, kay? of course, if you send me stories I'll post them, but thatz a different story. XP**

**Thanks to all you reviews! You Rock!!!!**

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**Going Home Again**

_"There are two parts of the heart: The first, a tamed, gentle side, hiding from danger; the other a wild, daring side, ready to break free," –Pearla_

What I remember most about Thomas is his eyes.

The look in them, more like it. He had amber eyes, deep orange, in fact; but there was something about them…like they had a fight going on inside of them, a battle between decisions…

Maybe that's why he was never calm enough to stay inside. Me and my sister, Elizabeth, loved him more than words can say. He was our first pet, our 'child'. He clawed the curtains a lot, climbed the table legs, shredded his play-mouse-toy to shreds….but we still loved him. He would stretch out on my dad's legs, rub against my ankles, and Elizabeth and mum enjoyed it when he arched his back against their legs.

I saw him staring out the window sometimes, a wistful look in his eyes. When he was inside he would trek slowly around the room, looking sickly. Other times, when he was out in the garden, the bounce was back in his step, even though he was afraid of the outdoors sometimes.

But I knew it the moment I saw him.

He wasn't a housecat.

I never told myself this out loud: I didn't want to let Thomas go. Sure, he preferred mice better than cat-food…I saw him eat a mouse once. And he loved climbing trees more than curtains and playing in the flower-bed...but I could create a nice little home for him here, couldn't I?

I woke up early one morning to find him trying to squeeze out of the roof window. I gently picked him up carried him downstairs, setting him outside the door. He thanked me for that!

I was actually hoping for kittens when I saw that he and Mrs. Honey's cat, Millie, were going off together for hours on end and playing endlessly. Soon, Mrs. Honey called to tell us that Millie was acting wilder all of a sudden, catching mice in the basement, and fighting with Duke, the biggest cat in the neighborhood.

Thomas looked proud of himself. He knew he had done his job!

But the call of the wild was too much for him. I found that he was disappearing for long periods of time, and when he got back home, he started to cry in his cat-way. He stopped eating, unless he had caught something outside, something live.

"But it's better here, right Thomas?" I whispered, stroking him. "You love us, and we love you. You have food given to you here, and a roof on top of your head. You like the house, right?"

The way he looked at me told me everything I needed to know. Thomas was truly unhappy.

On the last day he was with us, I remember him staring at me with his huge eyes, pleading for me to understand. He looked outside, then at me. He flexed his muscles and unsheathed his claws, and it looked like he wanted to me to forgive what he was doing.

I knew then, what he was going to do. Go wild. Go back to his forest home, where dad said he had come from. To be free once more. To be wild again.

"I forgive you, Thomas," I murmured, uncharacteristically quiet. At that moment, I watched him bunch up his muscles and leap out of the window, running down sidewalks and climbing up trees, looking thrilled and happy, well…

To finally be going home.

That very summer, I got a call from my friend, Tanya.

"Alex!" she sounded excited. "I arrived at the lake! You'll never guess who I saw! He looked just like Thomas!"

I smiled, lovingly gazing at the family portrait we had taken with him. "Cool," I said into the receiver. "Thomas, eh? I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"Knew that he'd be going home again."

-Alexander Park, 11


	5. Story by FrostFire15Boldheart'sLoyalty

This story is NOT by me, Pearla, but by **FrostFire15-Boldheart'sLoyalty, kay? **By no means did I write this: it was not by me, but by **FrostFire15-Boldheart'sLoyalty!!! **

**Glad we got that straitened out! XP**

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My name is Timothy. I live on a farm that's on a lake with my dad and two sisters. My mom died three years ago. We store straw and grain in our farm, so there are a lot of mice.

My dad got some cats to eat the mice and to save our grain. We had 3 cats, a small white and gray one, a gray one with a patch of white on his back, and a creamy colored one. I named the white one Floss. She was the quietest one.

My sis, Cara, called the gray one Smokey. He was the only male. And the creamy colored one we called Daisy.

Floss had her kittens a few months after we got them. One was gray, and the others were white. Their names were Frost, Velvet, and Mint. My sisters loved them, and the cats seemed happy too.

One day I was fishing in the lake that was next to our farm, and suddenly I heard Smokey let out a cat-scream. I got scared, and I snuck to where Smokey was, and I hid in some bushes. What I saw made me gasp.

What I saw was about twenty cats, scrawny but proud. A fire-colored cat was leading them, but I guess they ran into Smokey. Smokey was hissing and spitting at them, but then Daisy came out and meowed to the strangers. The strange cats seemed friendly, so Smokey stopped growling and went back into the barn. I didn't see the strangers for a long time.

About a month later, it was my cousin's birthday. Floss's kittens seemed like the perfect birthday present. When we came into the barn to get the kittens, Floss panicked. She started howling and tried to attack us. I felt really bad.

Daisy had her kittens soon after, but right after that she disappeared. My family looked for her everywhere, but we couldn't find her. Smokey and Floss didn't seem worried, so I wasn't either.

Three months later, Daisy came back. She looked thin, but there was something different about her. She seemed to be... ready to act all the time. I had a strange feeling that Daisy joined the wildcats.

Her kittens came back, too. Strangely, one of them only had half of a tail.

They were rambunctious, but I don't think they liked being here. The kittens always would try to escape out of the barn and into the wild unknown of the forest.

The night Daisy came back, I took their food bowls and filled them up with the normal food the cats ate. I walked into the barn, shook the food bowls, and called out, "Daisy!! Smokey!! Floss!!"

What shocked me was that there were two more cats there. They practically jumped when they saw me and scurried to the bales of hay and hid in them.

I heard Smokey meow, and to me it almost sounded amused. A huge dark brown tabby stared out at me from the bale of hay. Its amber eyes shined out of the gloom, and I didn't want to touch it. It would probably rip off my hand if I did.

I smiled. The cats have come to take Daisy back into the unknown with them.

They looked wild, and were probably wild too. As I walked out of the barn, I knew that that would probably be the last time I ever saw Daisy again. But I wasn't sad. In fact, I wished I could come with her, to what ever the wilderness held.

-Timothy, 12

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**Ps. Author's note: just to let you know, the two cats that Timothy saw the day Daisy came back from ThunderClan were Brambleclaw and Cloudtail. And the cats Smokey was hissing at was Thunderclan. Thanks for reading this story!! And**

**Thank you Pearla for putting up on her Chicken Soup story.**

**You are very welcome: it was my pleasure! -Pearla**


	6. Tasha: Remember Me

**Hey ya'll!**

**Well, ha! I actully found time in my busy hours to make a chappie! XP Hope it ain't too long -and sorry if u hate it. My mind is bent by stress! XP**

**Pearla**

**PS: PLEASE ENJOY! I WRITE FOR THE SHEER PLEASURE OF MY REVIEWEES!! HA!!! XP**

**PPS: Tasha is Barley's mother**

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A Life of Danger: I Remember Her

_"You have to let loved ones make their choices-not make the choices for them," –Pearla_

Tasha.

I remember her clearly as the small, mewling brown kitten I found on our doorstep, eyes barely open, ears not fully erect yet.

I remember her tinkling mew, her playful behavior, her fierce courage that never wavered, even when faced with impossible odds.

I remember her life and her death, from when she was a housecat till when she went wild.

Oh, Tasha.

There were wild-cats in the forest, but they were not the ones Tasha chose to live with.

She went off to join the alley-cats, after I had set her free.

Nearby, there was a huge dumpster, with rat-droppings and garbage. It way not the life I wanted for my precious kitten at all. The cats there were horrifying-terrible, really.

Lord knows how they got teeth around their collars-maybe the handiwork of the men who lived near the dumpster. Either way, those cats were vicious.

Tasha settled in well the first time, though. I remember the time she ventured into their land, watching from behind a bush to her activity. I remember how she fought a cat that attacked her-fur bristling and wild. I remember how the other cat bowed his head, and led her away.

I knew that moment that she wouldn't be coming home.

Oh, Tasha.

She had a new life, though, if not the best. I saw her from my window, catching rats and birds, fighting with the same courage she had shown a kitten.

I remember seeing her with a cute tomcat one day, and a huge belly the next two months-and worried she had bloat, a disease or was fed too much. Until I saw her lying there one day with three squirming shapes near her belly.

As her new kittens grew up-Tigger, Spotty and Mischief-I saw that they were under the control of many larger, fiercer cats, despite the protection of their mother. The oldest one-Mischief-a small black and white kitten I loved adoringly-wasn't there one day. I thought he was dead, or had runaway.

I watched as Spotty and Tigger grew into fine, fierce fighters. I saw them invade the forest, watched them fight with the woodland cats, snarl and claw in frightful strength.

And at the same time, I watched Tasha grow older. Sometimes I saw a cat actually bring her a moue or two-her mate, usually, because she was too weak to hunt on her own.

But she was slowly withering away. It was too much for her, I suppose. She had no more purpose in life; she had ventured out into the wild, had been accepted into a band of wildcats, had mated and had 3 kits, which grew into warriors. What more did she want? To die, and be at peace.

And I wept that morning, when I saw her lying still, mouth agape. I walked into the dumpster, surprised to find it deserted other than a few other old cats, limping and half-forzen to death.

Tigger and Spotty were gone. I touched my finger to her ear, and ran my hand through her cold gray-brown fur. I cradled her dirty pelt, her worn-out body, her tail that she ahd ocne chased, like a baby, cooing to her. I left food out for the other cats, and took Tasha to my backyard.

I wanted to bury her there but I don't think she would've liked that. I strayed off to Mr. and Mrs. Andrew's barn-they were an old couple with a thing for cats.

I asked their permission, and they said sure, with sympathy in their voices, that I could bury Tasha near the farm-house, out in the open where you could see the sky.

I knew my kitty would appreciate it. As I grabbed a shovel to make a small grave, a flash of black and white fur caught my eye.

Mischief.

His eyes were wide; I think he recognized me. A smaller black cat stared out from behind him-ears twitching in curiosity.

With a purr, he launched himself at me until he stiffened when he saw me holding the bag. I showed him his dead mother and I began to dig.

He stood by me as, without anything holding her, I gently lifted her out of the bag and into the earth, burying her forever. I stayed for supper at the Andrew's house- and saw him with his head bowed outside, his tiny companion with him.

I came back the next morning, when it was early and the birds were barely tweeting.

Mischief glanced up from where he was sitting on a clump of hay, and his piercing eyes were telling me to understand.

"I know," I blinked. "I know that life wasn't for you. That wasn't a life at all. I know I shouldn't have let Tasha live there. But she made her choice. Looks like you did, too."

With a final farewell, I reflected on Tasha's life. She had led a life of danger-of fighting, and hunting and stalking. But with her kittens, or at least, Mischief, she had led a life of love.

I remember that I glanced back at my pile of earth under which Tasha lay. I remember the fire in Mischief's eyes and knew that he could have stayed in the dumpster if he wanted to.

_"Let those cats suffer,"_ his look said. _"I chose a life of peace, and it was the right one." _

It was not until then did I swear that his eyes could talk.

They could talk: like Tasha's eyes had.

-Alexia Susan White, 14


	7. Story by TsubasaAngel: Clouds

**Hey ya'll! Sorry I have so not been updating, but this is a story by Tsubasa-Angel, not me. TSUBASA-ANGEL, NOT ME!!! Kay? XP**

**Please enjoy! **

**pEaRLa**

**PS: Great work, Tsubasa-Angel! XP**

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**Clouds**

I was just in my room, sitting at my desk, typing on my computer with my old cat sitting on my lap. I had almost finished my school essay, and I was starting to edit it. I scratched his head absentmindedly. I sighed, thinking I needed a break. I looked out the window in front of me. I blinked when I thought I heard a faint mew. I looked down at old Peter.

That mew definetly didn't come from him. I stood up from my desk, and carefully, I put old Peter on my bad, and I smiled when he was still asleep. I saved the essay on the computer so I wouldn't accidently delete it somehow. That's when I heard the mew again.

I walked outside my room then to the front door. My parents weren't here yet, so I just opened it. When I opened it, I realized no one was there. The mew sounded again, and I realized it came from the ground. I looked down. There, on my porchstep was a fluffy white kitten, about 6 months old, I would guess, maybe a bit older, I dunno.

It gave a happy sounding mew, and that's when I realized how scrawny it looked. I picked it up carefully, and took it inside the house. I got out some catfood, only a tiny bit, and let him eat that. Meanwhile, I got some milk out and warmed it for about 10 seconds. Old cats didn't like warm milk as much as kittens as young as this did.

I smiled when I saw him finish. He gave a big yawn, and I saw all his fangs as his mouth gaped open.

He walked to the front door, and I followed him. I picked him up, opened the door, and let him out. I didn't expect to see him again, that was just my good cat deed for the day.

I sighed when I thought about the essay. I quickly finished, just when I heard my parents arrived. I clicked save, then print. As I heard the printer working, I went outside to the front door to go and meet them.

They smiled at me, and asked me if anything happened while they were gone, and if school was fun. I smiled and said, just finishing my story. I didn't think that I'd see that fluffy white kitten again. I was proven wrong when I was at my doorstep, just opening the door, when he appeared. I carried him inside, fed him, then let him go.

Before long, he wasn't as scrawny. This routine continued for days, until I forot that

Saturday was the day that Mom and Dad stayed home. When they heard the faint mew, I went to get it, but my parents were all ready there, they were smiling at the cute adorable kitten. I knew right then that they wanted that kitten.

I tried to explain that it was probably a wild cat, but they didn't listen.

Mom picked him up and Dad got the keys. We walked to the car, and they got in, including the kitten. I knew I had to find a way for him to get back into the

forest. So, as mom and dad were busy, I said I forgot something, and I opened the door. He was on the back of the car, looking through the mirror, mewing loudly, in disrtess, I thought. So, when I opened the door, he looked at me cautiously, and I just softly nugded him, and he was gone.

They say that once you name a cat, you can't let them go. I'm glad I didn't name that little kitten, because I know that it belongs in the wild. And, if I had to let him go, it would have been hard for me. So, I guess that, in the end, everything worked out for the best. My parents? They got another kitten.

I ended up caring for it, while they played with it.

That's the end of my story of that one cat that kept coming back.

-Amy Becker, 11

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**AN: The little white kitten that kept coming back was**

**Cloudpaw, and remember when he started eating Twolog food? then almost went to**

**the vet? I wrote this on that, except I wrote it in this girls point of view.**


	8. Where the Wild Cats Roam

**I dedicate this story to Hisser: the only cat that talked with his eyes and who is now in StarClan. And to Limper, wherever she may be. You were more dog than cat, my little hunter.**

**Also, to Nova, Otta, Sparx, Najm, and Naughty, without whom I could never have thought the same way.**

**Be safe, my cats,**

**pearla**

**PS: Prince, Ingo, Ziggy, Seppy. If you are in StarClan, I hope you are happy.**

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**Where the Wild Cats Roam**

_Sometimes, one has to look within to find where they truly belong -Pearla_

Wild cats.

I was scared of them.

I hated their fierce looks, their sharp claws, their awful screams that pierced the night…and I hated the fact that they could hurt my Cody.

My grandmother had adopted a roll-poly bundle of fur when I was little: and I instantly grew attached to her. I picked out her name, Cody, after program I had watched. The cat had been called Cody and had survived against all odds, after being terribly injured, awfully scarred, and having fears of almost everything. The story ended well, though. The Kitty was safe.

I was frightened that my own Cody wouldn't have such a happy ending if she fell to the paws of those cats.

You see, she loved going outside. She loved playing with Smudge, and Princess, two cats that had lived next door. She also adored tormenting Bingo, our neighbor's terrier dog.

But Princess's owner, Michelle, said that her other cat Rusty had wandered into the forest, and he never came back. She swore that she had seen him again, but I didn't believe her. I thought Rusty was in Heaven by now: I thought he was so dead.

Desperate, I kept Cody inside at all times. She grew miserable and listless, mewing loudly at night and crying when I picked her up. Her eyes were bloodshot and she didn't eat well. At this rate, she was going to die before she took a paw-step outside!

So I finally let her outside.

She looked back at me, eyes widening. "_I'm…outside?"_ her look said. Then, realizing it, she leaped out of the garden and went running down the street. _"I'm outside!"_

_But I'll be back!"_ It was as if she was promising me that.

And I chose to believe her.

Big mistake.

It turns out that a couple of workmen were capturing the forest cats to take away to a shelter. My Cody got captured as well.

I asked the workmen if they had seen a cat of her description. They were sympathetic; I was crying so hard that it was a wonder I could see where I was going. They said that they had seen tons of cats, and a lot of them were brown like Cody, but they had been loaded onto a truck and taken away.

Days past. Weeks. After what seemed like a month I lost all hope that I would ever see my beloved feline friend again. My parents got me another kitten.

I liked her, but not as much as Cody. I would spend hours alone outside, rocking on a small swing. Hours staring up at the sky, hoping that my Cody was safe.

Then, finally I saw her. Like an angel.

She was trotting up to the yard, tail held high. She was skinny: her ribs shown through her brown fur. But the look she gave me, glinting with mischief, told me everything.

"_I told you I'd be back!"_

-Sarah Lee Louis, age 12


	9. Second Story by Mistypool

**My thanks to Mistypool, a great authoress, for writing this story. **

**To Mistypool: Thank You for continuing to write for this story, on a cat I'm sure plently of us know. **

**Thank you everyone! Even when my story was long-gone I still got reviews!**

**This story's on Purdy. In truth, i wanted to write one on him, but this story covers it!**

**pearla**

**PS: Mistypool. I hope you don't mind. I changed the sentence. "He seemed to be letting them eat his food." To 'he didn't really seem to mind." If you want to object, PM me and I'll change it back immediatly. **

**This story is short, but very enjoyable. It gives a greater sense of meaning to the lives of cats. **

* * *

Cats with a Purpose

_"Some need to look inside to find thier destiny" -Pearla_

I live in a city. Living in a city, I rarely see cats. Or any animals, for that matter. I had a neighbor, who had a cat. His name was Purdy. He liked to go into the wild. His owners didn't care.

One day, he came back with lots of cat. These cats were skinny. But I could also see muscle, and I guessed these were wild ones. They seemed hungry, and Purdy took them inside his house. I looked through the window. They were eating Purdy's food! He didn't seem to mind. When the owners came out, and saw them, they got their little girl, Rebecca.

Rebecca saw them, and she picked up a pretty silver on. As soon as Rebecca touched her, the cats started yowling. They jumped and clawed. Soon, they were running out and into the woods. Rebecca was crying, and Purdy had ran out with the forest cats.

Those cats had had a purpose. I knew they would probably go through the mountains.

Next summer, my family went to Santuary Lake. I went boating, alone. During that time, I saw a tabby, and I remembered those forest cats earlier. Next to

him was a flame colored cat. Those were two of the cats in that group. Later, I wondered what had happened to that silver kitty.

One of the cats in the group seemed to be her brother. I saw that cat on the lake shore. When he looked up, he met my eyes. In them, I what that silver cat had done.

Those ferocious cats that had made Rebecca cry with all her might, the ones with a purpose, had lost her. How exactly, I never knew, but I learned that those cats had feelings. And she had died trying to do what was meant for her to do.

- Melody Turner, 13


	10. Story by peacepuppylove: Discovering

Hello, everybody!

I continue this story only because alot of people send me their stories! And that's good. (Ah.) D

This is a new kind of story that, in my opinion, was an extremely creative and well-written one that I greatly enjoyed reading! You may send me entries about stories like this.

It is by peacepuppylove! Like me, she has a twin! D

I need a story on Millie. She's the last kittycat left! You may also write stories on expreiences with real cats, or merely about how you felt once you started reading 'Warriors'! I'll be happy to accept any entry you send me!

Peace-out, (Y)

pearla

ps: to all of u who dont know, the 'cutter' is the vet.

* * *

Discovering

_"When something bigger is hidden underneath, it is the greatest discovery of all,"_ -Pearla

We found our cat in a box next to our church. Me and my sister nelly were seven years old. Her thick, black pelt was covered in spray paint and fleas. She was obviously abused, but she wasn't vicious and she soon became a big part of our lives. We named her Boo. A month or so after we found her, she had to go to the Cutter. Back then I didn't even know what that meant, but I could tell that my precious Boo was very upset when she got back.

She was lethargic and wouldn't eat and kept nipping and the scar on her belly.

Over years she grew fat and lazy and I was pretty upset. She just wasn't the cat she could have been. Several years later, shortly after Nelly and my 10th birthday, a long-haired gray tabby cat started to appear around my yard. Me and Nelly always tried to catch it but it was terrified of us and always darted away when it saw us.

We guessed it was a boy and named it Benny. But a few months later, Benny had kits, so we changed her name to Betty and named the two small kits, one white, one black, Casper and Shakira. Later on we started seeing a longhaired ginger cat that we assumed to be the father and named him Tom. We watched the kits grow (from a distance) and over two years.

Betty and Tom had two more litters, all of ironicly black and white cats until there were a total of eleven cats in the area. Betty, Tom, Casper, Shakira, from Betty's second litter, white furred Snowbell and black Sammy and Ash, the third litter, white Fuzzy and Furry, and the last black kit Ploofy, and Boo, of course.

We could tell them all apart because of small distinctive markings, Caspy was pure white but Fuzzy had speckles of black and Fuzzy had a ginger tail. Snowbell was different from all the other white cats because she had green eyes and the others all had brown eyes. Some of the black cats had brown, gray and white on there coats and they also all had different colored eyes.

Plus, the younger litters were smaller (although they were growing fast). We always kept track of what the wildcats were doing and wrote it down in a journal. We would check our yard everyday to see the wildcats and it fascinated us that they survived so well without owners. Soon, I started reading the Warriors books. I read all about how wild cats lived and understood more about Betty and her kin.

I decided to give them all new warrior names. Betty became Stripestar because we considered her the leader and Tom was Gingerfur, the deputy. The first litter had grown into warriors, Casper, Ghosttail, and Shakira, Cobaltfoot. The second litter were apprentices, Snowbell became Winterpaw, Sammy was Chipmunkpaw (because we once saw him catch a chipmunk)and Ash was Ashfur (even thought there is already a cat in the books called Ashfur, I couldn't resist. The newest kits were only a few moons old and I called Fuzzy, Fuzzkit, Furry, Furkit, and Ploofy, Poofkit.

We wrote down the knew names and began describing their actions in Warriors terms in our journal. I thought about naming Boo a warrior name, but I decided it was too late, she had already gone to the cutter, so she was doomed to be a kittypet for life. The last time I saw the cats, Gingerfur and Stipestar were together, with all of the youngest kits and Ghosttail with them.

The were relaxing and the kits were chasing bugs. It made me glad to have a little clan of my own. Then I realized, that I hadn't yet named my clan so I called it DiscoveryClan (I know, kind of lengthy) but I named it that because I was proud that we were able to discover a real group of wildcats and know them like I know ThunderClan and the other cats of the Warriors books. That is the story of DiscoveryClan, my very own backyard Clan.

* * *

**Liked it, everybody? Here's some info on a new story peacepuppylove's writing-I am so gonna read it! D -pearla**

I'll probably put my whole journal on the site too, so

look for my story! (The story will probably be called DiscoveryClan)

Keep writing! -peacepuppylove


	11. Story by Celiana: Losing Millie

**Hey, ya'll!**

**OK, the only times I'm gonna update is if you give me a story, kay?**

**THIS STORY IS NOT BY ME, BUT BY CELIANA. THAT'S RIGHT, FOLKS, CELIANA. KAY?**

**This is a story 'bout Millie!**

**THANK U, CELIANA!  
ENJOY,**

**Pearla-chan**

* * *

**_Losing Millie_**

I remember the day I got Millie.

My neighbors the Cohen's cat Nina had just given birth to kittens. There were four of them, a small silver tabby she-cat, a white and black tom, a silver and white tom, and a tawny-colored tabby she-cat. Mrs. Cohen had said that I could have any one I wanted.

I had wanted a kitten for so long, I didn't know how to chose. Mrs. Cohen said that I would have to wait until the kittens were eight weeks to take one home, but I could chose now, if I liked. At first I thought that I wanted the tawny-colored tabby kitten, and I said so. Mrs. Cohen nodded. Eight weeks passed relatively quickly, and I hurried over to Mrs. Cohen's. My friend Kayla was already there.

"Hi, Alessa!" she greeted me. "Hi, Kayla. Is Mrs. Cohen letting you have one of Nina's kittens, too?" I asked.

"Yep!" Kayla said. On her lap was the tawny-colored tabby she-cat, her eyes were open by now and they were a pretty light green. I sat down on the floor next to her.

"Meow! Meow!" came a small voice next to my foot. I looked down and it was the small silver tabby. Her eyes were now a pretty pale blue.

"Awww, you're so adorable!" I said picking her up and putting her in my lap. Mrs. Cohen came in just then. "Have you girls chosen your kittens, yet?" "Yes," I said cuddling the kitten close to me. "Millie."

"Millie?" Mrs. Cohen asked quizzically. "Yes, this is Millie." I said.

Mrs. Cohen nodded. "What about you, Kayla?" she asked. "I'll take this little love," Kayla said. "I'll name her Sasha." Mrs. Cohen nodded. She seemed satisfied that two of Nina's kittens were going to good homes.

"What will happen to the other two?" I asked.

"This little guy," she said as she picked up the silver and white tom, "Is going to live with the Donsons up the road. Do you know them?" I nodded. The Donsons lived three houses down from me. "And then lastly, this little one," she said picking up the last kitten, the black and white tom, "Is going to live with the Bergmans."

"They're my cousins!" I exclaimed.

"Really? Well, then, I suppose you will be seeing a lot of Millie's sister and brothers."

Two years later, little Millie was all grown up. Then our neighbors the Benjamins got a new cat. He was a longhaired gray tom.

They named him Graystripe. Millie began spending a lot of time over there. She started acting all strange, not eating her food and spending a lot more time with Graystripe. I thought maybe Millie was lonely, so I took her to the vet. The vet said she was fine, maybe she needed some excitement in her life.

So, Miranda Benjamin and I took Millie and Graystripe to my grandfather's house out in the country. They loved it! But when we came back, they were the same. I didn't tell Miranda but I was afraid that Graystripe was a bad influence on Millie.

After all, it was after the Benjamins brought Graystripe home that Millie started acting weird. I took Millie to see her mother Nina. No luck. I took her to see Kayla and Sasha. Sasha wasn't there, Kayla said that Sasha had managed to rip her collar off and was always out in the forest. I took her to see her brother Smoky at the Donsons. No luck.

We went to see my cousins Savannah, Daniel and Freddy and my aunt Victoria and uncle George and of course to see Millie's brother Patches. Millie had a fun time but she was back to normal as soon as we got back.

One day, I realized I knew what I had to do. I just wasn't sure if I could. I yanked off Millie's purple collar. I opened the gate and pushed Millie out. I was crying the whole time and Millie looked confused.

She rubbed against me purring. I picked her up and walked to the Benjamin's. I opened the gate and I came face-to-face with Miranda! She had been crying, too. She showed me Graystripe's green collar in her hand and I opened my clenched hand around Millie's purple one. We set them down on the lawn and Miranda opened the gate.

Then Miranda and I ran into the house. "At least, they're together," I said, sobbing. Miranda nodded. "They have each other and so do we. We both know the pain," Miranda said biting her lip.

_Millie, wherever you happen to be, I miss you and I hope you are happy with Graystripe._

-Alessandra Isabella Silver, age thirteen

* * *

**Just so you know I don't like Millie and Graystripe together either, I just**

**thought that that was how it would look to Millie's owner. The reason**

**Alessandra is thirteen is because she was eleven when she got Millie.**

**-Celiana**


	12. Story by Oceanfur:Forest Cats of My Town

**So, I recieved this story from Oceanfur and updated yay!! XD XD XD **

**Oceanfur, u mentioned that u had trouble with the details so i added a few sentences of my own. i also made up a name for your character. **

**_People, other than that, this is purey Oceanfur's work._ **

**And thanks! Copper's my doggie's name, too! XD XD XD **

**He's staring at me. Quit it, Cop!! That freaks me out. XD XD XD**

**-Pearla-Chan**

* * *

Forest Cats of My Town

My parents used to say that cats had no feelings. But I knew that they were so wrong.

The thick forest outside my house was full of wild cats. Sometimes I would see a flame colored one looking at me. Then he would dart away into the dense undergrowth. Surely he had feelings? They all did, no matter what my parents said.

I named that one Copper.

One day I found out that the forest was being chopped down to be made into a _parking lot_, of all things-I was shocked! They were going to chop down the forest that the cats lived in! What would happen to them?

I wanted to help the wild cats but the workers said that the cats were just strays that they would find a new home. And if they didn't the workers were going to catch them. I worried for Copper.

I decided to go looking for him and walked for an hour or two. I hated being there because I heard the sounds of trees being cut down. The noise hurt my ears and I kept on searching desperately for Copper.

A few minutes later I found lying him under a dead tree. Two smaller cats were mewing beside him, sounding distressed.

He couldn't of survived that.

I vowed never to park at the parking lot when I got older. It was in memory of Copper.

A few years later I went on vacation to the lake that was a few hours away. I still hadn't parked a single time in that parking lot, and I usually remembred Copper's green eyes staring at me.

After I had gotten there, I got out of the car to take a walk. While I was walking I saw a flash of orange--_and there was Copper_!!

He looked at me, and I knew he was happy being wild,free. As he and the pale cat next to him quickly ran back into the dense undergrowth, just like he used to, I knew that Copper was at his true home.

-Emily Peters, 17


End file.
